The Golden Bough : a study of magic and religion, by Sir James George Frazer

XXVIII. The Killing of the Tree-Spirit

1. The Whitsuntide Mummers

IT remains to ask what light the custom of killing the divine king or priest sheds upon the special
subject to our enquiry. In an earlier part of this work we saw reason to suppose that the King of the Wood at Nemi was
regarded as an incarnation of a tree-spirit or of the spirit of vegetation, and that as such he would be endowed, in
the belief of his worshippers, with a magical power of making the trees to bear fruit, the crops to grow, and so on.
His life must therefore have been held very precious by his worshippers, and was probably hedged in by a system of
elaborate precautions or taboos like those by which, in so many places, the life of the man-god has been guarded
against the malignant influence of demons and sorcerers. But we have seen that the very value attached to the life of
the man-god necessitates his violent death as the only means of preserving it from the inevitable decay of age. The
same reasoning would apply to the King of the Wood; he, too, had to be killed in order that the divine spirit,
incarnate in him, might be transferred in its integrity to his successor. The rule that he held office till a stronger
should slay him might be supposed to secure both the preservation of his divine life in full vigour and its
transference to a suitable successor as soon as that vigour began to be impaired. For so long as he could maintain his
position by the strong hand, it might be inferred that his natural force was not abated; whereas his defeat and death
at the hands of another proved that his strength was beginning to fail and that it was time his divine life should be
lodged in a less dilapidated tabernacle. This explanation of the rule that the King of the Wood had to be slain by his
successor at least renders that rule perfectly intelligible. It is strongly supported by the theory and practice of the
Shilluk, who put their divine king to death at the first signs of failing health, lest his decrepitude should entail a
corresponding failure of vital energy on the corn, the cattle, and men. Moreover, it is countenanced by the analogy of
the Chitomé, upon whose life the existence of the world was supposed to hang, and who was therefore slain by his
successor as soon as he showed signs of breaking up. Again, the terms on which in later times the King of Calicut held
office are identical with those attached to the office of King of the Wood, except that whereas the former might be
assailed by a candidate at any time, the King of Calicut might only be attacked once every twelve years. But as the
leave granted to the King of Calicut to reign so long as he could defend himself against all comers was a mitigation of
the old rule which set a fixed term to his life, so we may conjecture that the similar permission granted to the King
of the Wood was a mitigation of an older custom of putting him to death at the end of a definite period. In both cases
the new rule gave to the god-man at least a chance for his life, which under the old rule was denied him; and people
probably reconciled themselves to the change by reflecting that so long as the god-man could maintain himself by the
sword against all assaults, there was no reason to apprehend that the fatal decay had set in.

The conjecture that the King of the Wood was formerly put to death at the expiry of a fixed term, without being
allowed a chance for his life, will be confirmed if evidence can be adduced of a custom of periodically killing his
counterparts, the human representatives of the tree-spirit, in Northern Europe. Now in point of fact such a custom has
left unmistakable traces of itself in the rural festivals of the peasantry. To take examples.

At Niederpöring, in Lower Bavaria, the Whitsuntide representative of the tree-spirit — the Pfingstl as he
was called — was clad from top to toe in leaves and flowers. On his head he wore a high pointed cap, the ends of which
rested on his shoulders, only two holes being left in it for his eyes. The cap was covered with water-flowers and
surmounted with a nosegay of peonies. The sleeves of his coat were also made of water-plants, and the rest of his body
was enveloped in alder and hazel leaves. On each side of him marched a boy holding up one of the Pfingstl’s
arms. These two boys carried drawn swords, and so did most of the others who formed the procession. They stopped at
every house where they hoped to receive a present; and the people, in hiding, soused the leaf-clad boy with water. All
rejoiced when he was well drenched. Finally he waded into the brook up to his middle; whereupon one of the boys,
standing on the bridge, pretended to cut off his head. At Wurmlingen, in Swabia, a score of young fellows dress
themselves on Whit-Monday in white shirts and white trousers, with red scarves round their waists and swords hanging
from the scarves. They ride on horseback into the wood, led by two trumpeters blowing their trumpets. In the wood they
cut down leafy oak branches, in which they envelop from head to foot him who was the last of their number to ride out
of the village. His legs, however, are encased separately, so that he may be able to mount his horse again. Further,
they give him a long artificial neck, with an artificial head and a false face on the top of it. Then a May-tree is
cut, generally an aspen or beech about ten feet high; and being decked with coloured handkerchiefs and ribbons it is
entrusted to a special “May-bearer.” The cavalcade then returns with music and song to the village. Amongst the
personages who figure in the procession are a Moorish king with a sooty face and a crown on his head, a Dr. Iron-Beard,
a corporal, and an executioner. They halt on the village green, and each of the characters makes a speech in rhyme. The
executioner announces that the leaf-clad man has been condemned to death, and cuts off his false head. Then the riders
race to the May-tree, which has been set up a little way off. The first man who succeeds in wrenching it from the
ground as he gallops past keeps it with all its decorations. The ceremony is observed every second or third year.

In Saxony and Thüringen there is a Whitsuntide ceremony called “chasing the Wild Man out of the bush,” or “fetching
the Wild Man out of the wood.” A young fellow is enveloped in leaves or moss and called the Wild Man. He hides in the
wood and the other lads of the village go out to seek him. They find him, lead him captive out of the wood, and fire at
him with blank muskets. He falls like dead to the ground, but a lad dressed as a doctor bleeds him, and he comes to
life again. At this they rejoice, and, binding him fast on a waggon, take him to the village, where they tell all the
people how they have caught the Wild Man. At every house they receive a gift. In the Erzgebirge the following custom
was annually observed at Shrovetide about the beginning of the seventeenth century. Two men disguised as Wild Men, the
one in brushwood and moss, the other in straw, were led about the streets, and at last taken to the market-place, where
they were chased up and down, shot and stabbed. Before falling they reeled about with strange gestures and spirted
blood on the people from bladders which they carried. When they were down, the huntsmen placed them on boards and
carried them to the ale-house, the miners marching beside them and winding blasts on their mining tools as if they had
taken a noble head of game. A very similar Shrovetide custom is still observed near Schluckenau in Bohemia. A man
dressed up as a Wild Man is chased through several streets till he comes to a narrow lane across which a cord is
stretched. He stumbles over the cord and, falling to the ground, is overtaken and caught by his pursuers. The
executioner runs up and stabs with his sword a bladder filled with blood which the Wild Man wears round his body; so
the Wild Man dies, while a stream of blood reddens the ground. Next day a straw-man, made up to look like the Wild Man,
is placed on a litter, and, accompanied by a great crowd, is taken to a pool into which it is thrown by the
executioner. The ceremony is called “burying the Carnival.”

In Semic (Bohemia) the custom of beheading the King is observed on Whit-Monday. A troop of young people disguise
themselves; each is girt with a girdle of bark and carries a wooden sword and a trumpet of willow-bark. The King wears
a robe of tree-bark adorned with flowers, on his head is a crown of bark decked with flowers and branches, his feet are
wound about with ferns, a mask hides his face, and for a sceptre he has a hawthorn switch in his hand. A lad leads him
through the village by a rope fastened to his foot, while the rest dance about, blow their trumpets, and whistle. In
every farmhouse the King is chased round the room, and one of the troop, amid much noise and outcry, strikes with his
sword a blow on the King’s robe of bark till it rings again. Then a gratuity is demanded. The ceremony of decapitation,
which is here somewhat slurred over, is carried out with a greater semblance of reality in other parts of Bohemia. Thus
in some villages of the Königgrätz district on Whit-Monday the girls assemble under one lime-tree and the young men
under another, all dressed in their best and tricked out with ribbons. The young men twine a garland for the Queen, and
the girls another for the King. When they have chosen the King and Queen they all go in procession two and two, to the
ale-house, from the balcony of which the crier proclaims the names of the King and Queen. Both are then invested with
the insignia of their office and are crowned with the garlands, while the music plays up. Then some one gets on a bench
and accuses the King of various offences, such as ill-treating the cattle. The King appeals to witnesses and a trial
ensues, at the close of which the judge, who carries a white wand as his badge of office, pronounces a verdict of
“Guilty,” or “Not guilty.” If the verdict is “Guilty,” the judge breaks his wand, the King kneels on a white cloth, all
heads are bared, and a soldier sets three or four hats, one above the other, on his Majesty’s head. The judge then
pronounces the word “Guilty” thrice in a loud voice, and orders the crier to behead the King. The crier obeys by
striking off the King’s hats with the wooden sword.

But perhaps, for our purpose, the most instructive of these mimic executions is the following Bohemian one. In some
places of the Pilsen district (Bohemia) on Whit-Monday the King is dressed in bark, ornamented with flowers and
ribbons; he wears a crown of gilt paper and rides a horse, which is also decked with flowers. Attended by a judge, an
executioner, and other characters, and followed by a train of soldiers, all mounted, he rides to the village square,
where a hut or arbour of green boughs has been erected under the May-trees, which are firs, freshly cut, peeled to the
top, and dressed with flowers and ribbons. After the dames and maidens of the village have been criticised and a frog
beheaded, the cavalcade rides to a place previously determined upon, in a straight, broad street. Here they draw up in
two lines and the King takes to flight. He is given a short start and rides off at full speed, pursued by the whole
troop. If they fail to catch him he remains King for another year, and his companions must pay his score at the
ale-house in the evening. But if they overtake and catch him he is scourged with hazel rods or beaten with the wooden
swords and compelled to dismount. Then the executioner asks, “Shall I behead this King?” The answer is given, “Behead
him”; the executioner brandishes his axe, and with the words, “One, two, three, let the King headless be!” he strikes
off the King’s crown. Amid the loud cries of the bystanders the King sinks to the ground; then he is laid on a bier and
carried to the nearest farmhouse.

In most of the personages who are thus slain in mimicry it is impossible not to recognise representatives of the
tree-spirit or spirit of vegetation, as he is supposed to manifest himself in spring. The bark, leaves, and flowers in
which the actors are dressed, and the season of the year at which they appear, show that they belong to the same class
as the Grass King, King of the May, Jack-in-the-Green, and other representatives of the vernal spirit of vegetation
which we examined in an earlier part of this work. As if to remove any possible doubt on this head, we find that in two
cases these slain men are brought into direct connexion with May-trees, which are the impersonal, as the May King,
Grass King, and so forth, are the personal representatives of the tree-spirit. The drenching of the Pfingstl
with water and his wading up to the middle into the brook are, therefore, no doubt rain-charms like those which have
been already described.

But if these personages represent, as they certainly do, the spirit of vegetation in spring, the question arises,
Why kill them? What is the object of slaying the spirit of vegetation at any time and above all in spring, when his
services are most wanted? The only probable answer to this question seems to be given in the explanation already
proposed of the custom of killing the divine king or priest. The divine life, incarnate in a material and mortal body,
is liable to be tainted and corrupted by the weakness of the frail medium in which it is for a time enshrined; and if
it is to be saved from the increasing enfeeblement which it must necessarily share with its human incarnation as he
advances in years, it must be detached from him before, or at least as soon as, he exhibits signs of decay, in order to
be transferred to a vigorous successor. This is done by killing the old representative of the god and conveying the
divine spirit from him to a new incarnation. The killing of the god, that is, of his human incarnation, is therefore
merely a necessary step to his revival or resurrection in a better form. Far from being an extinction of the divine
spirit, it is only the beginning of a purer and stronger manifestation of it. If this explanation holds good of the
custom of killing divine kings and priests in general, it is still more obviously applicable to the custom of annually
killing the representative of the tree-spirit or spirit of vegetation in spring. For the decay of plant life in winter
is readily interpreted by primitive man as an enfeeblement of the spirit of vegetation; the spirit has, he thinks,
grown old and weak and must therefore be renovated by being slain and brought to life in a younger and fresher form.
Thus the killing of the representative of the tree-spirit in spring is regarded as a means to promote and quicken the
growth of vegetation. For the killing of the tree-spirit is associated always (we must suppose) implicitly, and
sometimes explicitly also, with a revival or resurrection of him in a more youthful and vigorous form. So in the Saxon
and Thüringen custom, after the Wild Man has been shot he is brought to life again by a doctor; and in the Wurmlingen
ceremony there figures a Dr. Iron-Beard, who probably once played a similar part; certainly in another spring ceremony,
which will be described presently, Dr. Iron-Beard pretends to restore a dead man to life. But of this revival or
resurrection of the god we shall have more to say anon.

The points of similarity between these North European personages and the subject of our enquiry — the King of the
Wood or priest of Nemi — are sufficiently striking. In these northern maskers we see kings, whose dress of bark and
leaves along with the hut of green boughs and the fir-trees, under which they hold their court, proclaim them
unmistakably as, like their Italian counterpart, Kings of the Wood. Like him they die a violent death, but like him
they may escape from it for a time by their bodily strength and agility; for in several of these northern customs the
flight and pursuit of the king is a prominent part of the ceremony, and in one case at least if the king can outrun his
pursuers he retains his life and his office for another year. In this last case the king in fact holds office on
condition of running for his life once a year, just as the King of Calicut in later times held office on condition of
defending his life against all comers once every twelve years, and just as the priest of Nemi held office on condition
of defending himself against any assault at any time. In every one of these instances the life of the god-man is
prolonged on condition of his showing, in a severe physical contest of fight or flight, that his bodily strength is not
decayed, and that, therefore, the violent death, which sooner or later is inevitable, may for the present be postponed.
With regard to flight it is noticeable that flight figured conspicuously both in the legend and in the practice of the
King of the Wood. He had to be a runaway slave in memory of the flight of Orestes, the traditional founder of the
worship; hence the Kings of the Wood are described by an ancient writer as “both strong of hand and fleet of foot.”
Perhaps if we knew the ritual of the Arician grove fully we might find that the king was allowed a chance for his life
by flight, like his Bohemian brother. I have already conjectured that the annual flight of the priestly king at Rome
(regifugium) was at first a flight of the same kind; in other words, that he was originally one of those
divine kings who are either put to death after a fixed period or allowed to prove by the strong hand or the fleet foot
that their divinity is vigorous and unimpaired. One more point of resemblance may be noted between the Italian King of
the Wood and his northern counterparts. In Saxony and Thüringen the representative of the tree-spirit, after being
killed, is brought to life again by a doctor. This is exactly what legend affirmed to have happened to the first King
of the Wood at Nemi, Hippolytus or Virbius, who after he had been killed by his horses was restored to life by the
physician Aesculapius. Such a legend tallies well with the theory that the slaying of the King of the Wood was only a
step to his revival or resurrection in his successor.

2. Burying the Carnival

THUS far I have offered an explanation of the rule which required that the priest of Nemi should be
slain by his successor. The explanation claims to be no more than probable; our scanty knowledge of the custom and of
its history forbids it to be more. But its probability will be augmented in proportion to the extent to which the
motives and modes of thought which it assumes can be proved to have operated in primitive society. Hitherto the god
with whose death and resurrection we have been chiefly concerned has been the tree-god. But if I can show that the
custom of killing the god and the belief in his resurrection originated, or at least existed, in the hunting and
pastoral stage of society, when the slain god was an animal, and that it survived into the agricultural stage, when the
slain god was the corn or a human being representing the corn, the probability of my explanation will have been
considerably increased. This I shall attempt to do in the sequel, and in the course of the discussion I hope to clear
up some obscurities which still remain, and to answer some objections which may have suggested themselves to the
reader.

We start from the point at which we left off — the spring customs of European peasantry. Besides the ceremonies
already described there are two kindred sets of observances in which the simulated death of a divine or supernatural
being is a conspicuous feature. In one of them the being whose death is dramatically represented is a personification
of the Carnival; in the other it is Death himself. The former ceremony falls naturally at the end of the Carnival,
either on the last day of that merry season, namely Shrove Tuesday, or on the first day of Lent, namely Ash Wednesday.
The date of the other ceremony — the Carrying or Driving out of Death, as it is commonly called — is not so uniformly
fixed. Generally it is the fourth Sunday in Lent, which hence goes by the name of Dead Sunday; but in some places the
celebration falls a week earlier, in others, as among the Czechs of Bohemia, a week later, while in certain German
villages of Moravia it is held on the first Sunday after Easter. Perhaps, as has been suggested, the date may
originally have been variable, depending on the appearance of the first swallow or some other herald of the spring.
Some writers regard the ceremony as Slavonic in its origin. Grimm thought it was a festival of the New Year with the
old Slavs, who began their year in March. We shall first take examples, of the mimic death of the Carnival, which
always falls before the other in the calendar.

At Frosinone, in Latium, about half-way between Rome and Naples, the dull monotony of life in a provincial Italian
town is agreeably broken on the last day of the Carnival by the ancient festival known as the Radica. About
four o’clock in the afternoon the town band, playing lively tunes and followed by a great crowd, proceeds to the Piazza
del Plebiscito, where is the Sub-Prefecture as well as the rest of the Government buildings. Here, in the middle of the
square, the eyes of the expectant multitude are greeted by the sight of an immense car decked with many-coloured
festoons and drawn by four horses. Mounted on the car is a huge chair, on which sits enthroned the majestic figure of
the Carnival, a man of stucco about nine feet high with a rubicund and smiling countenance. Enormous boots, a tin
helmet like those which grace the heads of officers of the Italian marine, and a coat of many colours embellished with
strange devices, adorn the outward man of this stately personage. His left hand rests on the arm of the chair, while
with his right he gracefully salutes the crowd, being moved to this act of civility by a string which is pulled by a
man who modestly shrinks from publicity under the mercy-seat. And now the crowd, surging excitedly round the car, gives
vent to its feelings in wild cries of joy, gentle and simple being mixed up together and all dancing furiously the
Saltarello. A special feature of the festival is that every one must carry in his hand what is called a
radica ( “root”), by which is meant a huge leaf of the aloe or rather the agave. Any one who ventured into the
crowd without such a leaf would be unceremoniously hustled out of it, unless indeed he bore as a substitute a large
cabbage at the end of a long stick or a bunch of grass curiously plaited. When the multitude, after a short turn, has
escorted the slow-moving car to the gate of the Sub-Prefecture, they halt, and the car, jolting over the uneven ground,
rumbles into the courtyard. A hush now falls on the crowd, their subdued voices sounding, according to the description
of one who has heard them, like the murmur of a troubled sea. All eyes are turned anxiously to the door from which the
Sub-Prefect himself and the other representatives of the majesty of the law are expected to issue and pay their homage
to the hero of the hour. A few moments of suspense and then a storm of cheers and hand-clapping salutes the appearance
of the dignitaries, as they file out and, descending the staircase, take their place in the procession. The hymn of the
Carnival is now thundered out, after which, amid a deafening roar, aloe leaves and cabbages are whirled aloft and
descend impartially on the heads of the just and the unjust, who lend fresh zest to the proceedings by engaging in a
free fight. When these preliminaries have been concluded to the satisfaction of all concerned, the procession gets
under weigh. The rear is brought up by a cart laden with barrels of wine and policemen, the latter engaged in the
congenial task of serving out wine to all who ask for it, while a most internecine struggle, accompanied by a copious
discharge of yells, blows, and blasphemy, goes on among the surging crowd at the cart’s tail in their anxiety not to
miss the glorious opportunity of intoxicating themselves at the public expense. Finally, after the procession has
paraded the principal streets in this majestic manner, the effigy of Carnival is taken to the middle of a public
square, stripped of his finery, laid on a pile of wood, and burnt amid the cries of the multitude, who thundering out
once more the song of the Carnival fling their so-called “roots” on the pyre and give themselves up without restraint
to the pleasures of the dance.

In the Abruzzi a pasteboard figure of the Carnival is carried by four grave-diggers with pipes in their mouths and
bottles of wine slung at their shoulder-belts. In front walks the wife of the Carnival, dressed in mourning and
dissolved in tears. From time to time the company halts, and while the wife addresses the sympathising public, the
grave-diggers refresh the inner man with a pull at the bottle. In the open square the mimic corpse is laid on a pyre,
and to the roll of drums, the shrill screams of the women, and the gruffer cries of the men a light is set to it. While
the figure burns, chestnuts are thrown about among the crowd. Sometimes the Carnival is represented by a straw-man at
the top of a pole which is borne through the town by a troop of mummers in the course of the afternoon. When evening
comes on, four of the mummers hold out a quilt or sheet by the corners, and the figure of the Carnival is made to
tumble into it. The procession is then resumed, the performers weeping crocodile tears and emphasising the poignancy of
their grief by the help of saucepans and dinner bells. Sometimes, again, in the Abruzzi the dead Carnival is
personified by a living man who lies in a coffin, attended by another who acts the priest and dispenses holy water in
great profusion from a bathing tub.

At Lerida, in Catalonia, the funeral of the Carnival was witnessed by an English traveller in 1877. On the last
Sunday of the Carnival a grand procession of infantry, cavalry, and maskers of many sorts, some on horseback and some
in carriages, escorted the grand car of His Grace Pau Pi, as the effigy was called, in triumph through the principal
streets. For three days the revelry ran high, and then at midnight on the last day of the Carnival the same procession
again wound through the streets, but under a different aspect and for a different end. The triumphal car was exchanged
for a hearse, in which reposed the effigy of his dead Grace: a troop of maskers, who in the first procession had played
the part of Students of Folly with many a merry quip and jest, now, robed as priests and bishops, paced slowly along
holding aloft huge lighted tapers and singing a dirge. All the mummers wore crape, and all the horsemen carried blazing
flambeaux. Down the high street, between the lofty, many-storeyed and balconied houses, where every window, every
balcony, every housetop was crammed with a dense mass of spectators, all dressed and masked in fantastic gorgeousness,
the procession took its melancholy way. Over the scene flashed and played the shifting cross-lights and shadows from
the moving torches: red and blue Bengal lights flared up and died out again; and above the trampling of the horses and
the measured tread of the marching multitude rose the voices of the priests chanting the requiem, while the military
bands struck in with the solemn roll of the muffled drums. On reaching the principal square the procession halted, a
burlesque funeral oration was pronounced over the defunct Pau Pi, and the lights were extinguished. Immediately the
devil and his angels darted from the crowd, seized the body and fled away with it, hotly pursued by the whole
multitude, yelling, screaming, and cheering. Naturally the fiends were overtaken and dispersed; and the sham corpse,
rescued from their clutches, was laid in a grave that had been made ready for its reception. Thus the Carnival of 1877
at Lerida died and was buried.

A ceremony of the same sort is observed in Provence on Ash Wednesday. An effigy called Caramantran, whimsically
attired, is drawn in a chariot or borne on a litter, accompanied by the populace in grotesque costumes, who carry
gourds full of wine and drain them with all the marks, real or affected, of intoxication. At the head of the procession
are some men disguised as judges and barristers, and a tall gaunt personage who masquerades as Lent; behind them follow
young people mounted on miserable hacks and attired as mourners who pretend to bewail the fate that is in store for
Caramantran. In the principal square the procession halts, the tribunal is constituted, and Caramantran placed at the
bar. After a formal trial he is sentenced to death amid the groans of the mob: the barrister who defended him embraces
his client for the last time: the officers of justice do their duty: the condemned is set with his back to a wall and
hurried into eternity under a shower of stones. The sea or a river receives his mangled remains. Throughout nearly the
whole of the Ardennes it was and still is customary on Ash Wednesday to burn an effigy which is supposed to represent
the Carnival, while appropriate verses are sung round about the blazing figure. Very often an attempt is made to
fashion the effigy in the likeness of the husband who is reputed to be least faithful to his wife of any in the
village. As might perhaps have been anticipated, the distinction of being selected for portraiture under these painful
circumstances has a slight tendency to breed domestic jars, especially when the portrait is burnt in front of the house
of the gay deceiver whom it represents, while a powerful chorus of caterwauls, groans, and other melodious sounds bears
public testimony to the opinion which his friends and neighbours entertain of his private virtues. In some villages of
the Ardennes a young man of flesh and blood, dressed up in hay and straw, used to act the part of Shrove Tuesday
(Mardi Gras), as the personification of the Carnival is often called in France after the last day of the
period which he personates. He was brought before a mock tribunal, and being condemned to death was placed with his
back to a wall, like a soldier at a military execution, and fired at with blank cartridges. At Vrigne-aux-Bois one of
these harmless buffoons, named Thierry, was accidentally killed by a wad that had been left in a musket of the
firing-party. When poor Shrove Tuesday dropped under the fire, the applause was loud and long, he did it so naturally;
but when he did not get up again, they ran to him and found him a corpse. Since then there have been no more of these
mock executions in the Ardennes.

In Normandy on the evening of Ash Wednesday it used to be the custom to hold a celebration called the Burial of
Shrove Tuesday. A squalid effigy scantily clothed in rags, a battered old hat crushed down on his dirty face, his great
round paunch stuffed with straw, represented the disreputable old rake who, after a long course of dissipation, was now
about to suffer for his sins. Hoisted on the shoulders of a sturdy fellow, who pretended to stagger under the burden,
this popular personification of the Carnival promenaded the streets for the last time in a manner the reverse of
triumphal. Preceded by a drummer and accompanied by a jeering rabble, among whom the urchins and all the tag-rag and
bobtail of the town mustered in great force, the figure was carried about by the flickering light of torches to the
discordant din of shovels and tongs, pots and pans, horns and kettles, mingled with hootings, groans, and hisses. From
time to time the procession halted, and a champion of morality accused the broken-down old sinner of all the excesses
he had committed and for which he was now about to be burned alive. The culprit, having nothing to urge in his own
defence, was thrown on a heap of straw, a torch was put to it, and a great blaze shot up, to the delight of the
children who frisked round it screaming out some old popular verses about the death of the Carnival. Sometimes the
effigy was rolled down the slope of a hill before being burnt. At Saint-Lô the ragged effigy of Shrove Tuesday was
followed by his widow, a big burly lout dressed as a woman with a crape veil, who emitted sounds of lamentation and woe
in a stentorian voice. After being carried about the streets on a litter attended by a crowd of maskers, the figure was
thrown into the River Vire. The final scene has been graphically described by Madame Octave Feuillet as she witnessed
it in her childhood some sixty years ago. “My parents invited friends to see, from the top of the tower of Jeanne
Couillard, the funeral procession passing. It was there that, quaffing lemonade — the only refreshment allowed because
of the fast — we witnessed at nightfall a spectacle of which I shall always preserve a lively recollection. At our feet
flowed the Vire under its old stone bridge. On the middle of the bridge lay the figure of Shrove Tuesday on a litter of
leaves, surrounded by scores of maskers dancing, singing, and carrying torches. Some of them in their motley costumes
ran along the parapet like fiends. The rest, worn out with their revels, sat on the posts and dozed. Soon the dancing
stopped, and some of the troop, seizing a torch, set fire to the effigy, after which they flung it into the river with
redoubled shouts and clamour. The man of straw, soaked with resin, floated away burning down the stream of the Vire,
lighting up with its funeral fires the woods on the bank and the battlements of the old castle in which Louis XI. and
Francis I. had slept. When the last glimmer of the blazing phantom had vanished, like a falling star, at the end of the
valley, every one withdrew, crowd and maskers alike, and we quitted the ramparts with our guests.”

In the neighbourhood of Tübingen on Shrove Tuesday a straw-man, called the Shrovetide Bear, is made up; he is
dressed in a pair of old trousers, and a fresh black-pudding or two squirts filled with blood are inserted in his neck.
After a formal condemnation he is beheaded, laid in a coffin, and on Ash Wednesday is buried in the churchyard. This is
called “Burying the Carnival.” Amongst some of the Saxons of Transylvania the Carnival is hanged. Thus at Braller on
Ash Wednesday or Shrove Tuesday two white and two chestnut horses draw a sledge on which is placed a straw-man swathed
in a white cloth; beside him is a cart-wheel which is kept turning round. Two lads disguised as old men follow the
sledge lamenting. The rest of the village lads, mounted on horseback and decked with ribbons, accompany the procession,
which is headed by two girls crowned with evergreen and drawn in a waggon or sledge. A trial is held under a tree, at
which lads disguised as soldiers pronounce sentence of death. The two old men try to rescue the straw-man and to fly
with him, but to no purpose; he is caught by the two girls and handed over to the executioner, who hangs him on a tree.
In vain the old men try to climb up the tree and take him down; they always tumble down, and at last in despair they
throw themselves on the ground and weep and howl for the hanged man. An official then makes a speech in which he
declares that the Carnival was condemned to death because he had done them harm, by wearing out their shoes and making
them tired and sleepy. At the “Burial of Carnival” in Lechrain, a man dressed as a woman in black clothes is carried on
a litter or bier by four men; he is lamented over by men disguised as women in black clothes, then thrown down before
the village dung-heap, drenched with water, buried in the dung-heap, and covered with straw. On the evening of Shrove
Tuesday the Esthonians make a straw figure called metsik or “wood-spirit”; one year it is dressed with a man’s
coat and hat, next year with a hood and a petticoat. This figure is stuck on a long pole, carried across the boundary
of the village with loud cries of joy, and fastened to the top of a tree in the wood. The ceremony is believed to be a
protection against all kinds of misfortune.

Sometimes at these Shrovetide or Lenten ceremonies the resurrection of the pretended dead person is enacted. Thus,
in some parts of Swabia on Shrove Tuesday Dr. Iron-Beard professes to bleed a sick man, who thereupon falls as dead to
the ground; but the doctor at last restores him to life by blowing air into him through a tube. In the Harz Mountains,
when Carnival is over, a man is laid on a baking-trough and carried with dirges to the grave; but in the grave a glass
of brandy is buried instead of the man. A speech is delivered and then the people return to the village-green or
meeting-place, where they smoke the long clay pipes which are distributed at funerals. On the morning of Shrove Tuesday
in the following year the brandy is dug up and the festival begins by every one tasting the spirit which, as the phrase
goes, has come to life again.

3. Carrying out Death

THE CEREMONY of “Carrying out Death” presents much the same features as “Burying the Carnival”;
except that the carrying out of Death is generally followed by a ceremony, or at least accompanied by a profession, of
bringing in Summer, Spring, or Life. Thus in Middle Franken, a province of Bavaria, on the fourth Sunday in Lent, the
village urchins used to make a straw effigy of Death, which they carried about with burlesque pomp through the streets,
and afterwards burned with loud cries beyond the bounds. The Frankish custom is thus described by a writer of the
sixteenth century: “At Mid-Lent, the season when the church bids us rejoice, the young people of my native country make
a straw image of Death, and fastening it to a pole carry it with shouts to the neighbouring villages. By some they are
kindly received, and after being refreshed with milk, peas, and dried pears, the usual food of that season, are sent
home again. Others, however, treat them with anything but hospitality; for, looking on them as harbingers of
misfortune, to wit of death, they drive them from their boundaries with weapons and insults.” In the villages near
Erlangen, when the fourth Sunday in Lent came around, the peasant girls used to dress themselves in all their finery
with flowers in their hair. Thus attired they repaired to the neighbouring town, carrying puppets which were adorned
with leaves and covered with white cloths. These they took from house to house in pairs, stopping at every door where
they expected to receive something, and singing a few lines in which they announced that it was Mid-Lent and that they
were about to throw Death into the water. When they had collected some trifling gratuities they went to the river
Regnitz and flung the puppets representing Death into the stream. This was done to ensure a fruitful and prosperous
year; further, it was considered a safeguard against pestilence and sudden death. At Nuremberg girls of seven to
eighteen years of age go through the streets bearing a little open coffin, in which is a doll hidden under a shroud.
Others carry a beech branch, with an apple fastened to it for a head, in an open box. They sing, “We carry Death into
the water, it is well,” or “We carry Death into the water, carry him in and out again.” In some parts of Bavaria down
to 1780 it was believed that a fatal epidemic would ensue if the custom of “Carrying out Death” were not observed.

In some villages of Thüringen, on the fourth Sunday of Lent, the children used to carry a puppet of birchen twigs
through the village, and then threw it into a pool, while they sang, “We carry the old Death out behind the herdman’s
old house; we have got Summer, and Kroden’s (?) power is destroyed.” At Debschwitz or Dobschwitz, near Gera, the
ceremony of “Driving out Death” is or was annually observed on the first of March. The young people make up a figure of
straw or the like materials, dress it in old clothes, which they have begged from houses in the village, and carry it
out and throw it into the river. On returning to the village they break the good news to the people, and receive eggs
and other victuals as a reward. The ceremony is or was supposed to purify the village and to protect the inhabitants
from sickness and plague. In other villages of Thüringen, in which the population was originally Slavonic, the carrying
out of the puppet is accompanied with the singing of a song, which begins, “Now we carry Death out of the village and
Spring into the village.” At the end of the seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth century the custom was observed
in Thüringen as follows. The boys and girls made an effigy of straw or the like materials, but the shape of the figure
varied from year to year. In one year it would represent an old man, in the next an old woman, in the third a young
man, and in the fourth a maiden, and the dress of the figure varied with the character it personated. There used to be
a sharp contest as to where the effigy was to be made, for the people thought that the house from which it was carried
forth would not be visited with death that year. Having been made, the puppet was fastened to a pole and carried by a
girl if it represented an old man, but by a boy if it represented an old woman. Thus it was borne in procession, the
young people holding sticks in their hands and singing that they were driving out Death. When they came to water they
threw the effigy into it and ran hastily back, fearing that it might jump on their shoulders and wring their necks.
They also took care not to touch it, lest it should dry them up. On their return they beat the cattle with the sticks,
believing that this would make the animals fat or fruitful. Afterwards they visited the house or houses from which they
had carried the image of Death; where they received a dole of half-boiled peas. The custom of “Carrying out Death” was
practised also in Saxony. At Leipsic the bastards and public women used to make a straw effigy of Death every year at
Mid-Lent. This they carried through all the streets with songs and showed it to the young married women. Finally they
threw it into the river Parthe. By this ceremony they professed to make the young wives fruitful, to purify the city,
and to protect the inhabitants for that year from plague and other epidemics.

Ceremonies of the same sort are observed at Mid-Lent in Silesia. Thus in many places the grown girls with the help
of the young men dress up a straw figure with women’s clothes and carry it out of the village towards the setting sun.
At the boundary they strip it of its clothes, tear it in pieces, and scatter the fragments about the fields. This is
called “Burying Death.” As they carry the image out, they sing that they are about to bury Death under an oak, that he
may depart from the people. Sometimes the song runs that they are bearing Death over hill and dale to return no more.
In the Polish neighbourhood of Gross-Strehlitz the puppet is called Goik. It is carried on horseback and thrown into
the nearest water. The people think that the ceremony protects them from sickness of every sort in the coming year. In
the districts of Wohlau and Guhrau the image of Death used to be thrown over the boundary of the next village. But as
the neighbours feared to receive the ill-omened figure, they were on the look-out to repel it, and hard knocks were
often exchanged between the two parties. In some Polish parts of Upper Silesia the effigy, representing an old woman,
goes by the name of Marzana, the goddess of death. It is made in the house where the last death occurred, and is
carried on a pole to the boundary of the village, where it is thrown into a pond or burnt. At Polkwitz the custom of
“Carrying out Death” fell into abeyance; but an outbreak of fatal sickness which followed the intermission of the
ceremony induced the people to resume it.

In Bohemia the children go out with a straw-man, representing Death, to the end of the village, where they burn it,
singing —

“Now carry we Death out of the village,

The new Summer into the village,

Welcome, dear Summer,

Green little corn.”

At Tabor in Bohemia the figure of Death is carried out of the town and flung from a high rock into the water, while
they sing —

“Death swims on the water,

Summer will soon be here,

We carried Death away for you

We brought the Summer.

And do thou, O holy Marketa,

Give us a good year

For wheat and for rye.”

In other parts of Bohemia they carry Death to the end of the village, singing —

“We carry Death out of the village,

And the New Year into the village.

Dear Spring, we bid you welcome,

Green grass, we bid you welcome.”

Behind the village they erect a pyre, on which they burn the straw figure, reviling and scoffing at it the while.
Then they return, singing —

“We have carried away Death,

And brought Life back.

He has taken up his quarters in the village,

Therefore sing joyous songs.”

In some German villages of Moravia, as in Jassnitz and Seitendorf, the young folk assemble on the third Sunday in
Lent and fashion a straw-man, who is generally adorned with a fur cap and a pair of old leathern hose, if such are to
be had. The effigy is then hoisted on a pole and carried by the lads and lasses out into the open fields. On the way
they sing a song, in which it is said that they are carrying Death away and bringing dear Summer into the house, and
with Summer the May and the flowers. On reaching an appointed place they dance in a circle round the effigy with loud
shouts and screams, then suddenly rush at it and tear it to pieces with their hands. Lastly, the pieces are thrown
together in a heap, the pole is broken, and fire is set to the whole. While it burns the troop dances merrily round it,
rejoicing at the victory won by Spring; and when the fire has nearly died out they go to the householders to beg for a
present of eggs wherewith to hold a feast, taking care to give as a reason for the request that they have carried Death
out and away.

The preceding evidence shows that the effigy of Death is often regarded with fear and treated with marks of hatred
and abhorrence. Thus the anxiety of the villagers to transfer the figure from their own to their neighbours’ land, and
the reluctance of the latter to receive the ominous guest, are proof enough of the dread which it inspires. Further, in
Lusatia and Silesia the puppet is sometimes made to look in at the window of a house, and it is believed that some one
in the house will die within the year unless his life is redeemed by the payment of money. Again, after throwing the
effigy away, the bearers sometimes run home lest Death should follow them, and if one of them falls in running, it is
believed that he will die within the year. At Chrudim, in Bohemia, the figure of Death is made out of a cross, with a
head and mask stuck at the top, and a shirt stretched out on it. On the fifth Sunday in Lent the boys take this effigy
to the nearest brook or pool, and standing in a line throw it into the water. Then they all plunge in after it; but as
soon as it is caught no one more may enter the water. The boy who did not enter the water or entered it last will die
within the year, and he is obliged to carry the Death back to the village. The effigy is then burned. On the other
hand, it is believed that no one will die within the year in the house out of which the figure of Death has been
carried; and the village out of which Death has been driven is sometimes supposed to be protected against sickness and
plague. In some villages of Austrian Silesia on the Saturday before Dead Sunday an effigy is made of old clothes, hay,
and straw, for the purpose of driving Death out of the village. On Sunday the people, armed with sticks and straps,
assemble before the house where the figure is lodged. Four lads then draw the effigy by cords through the village amid
exultant shouts, while all the others beat it with their sticks and straps. On reaching a field which belongs to a
neighbouring village they lay down the figure, cudgel it soundly, and scatter the fragments over the field. The people
believe that the village from which Death has been thus carried out will be safe from any infectious disease for the
whole year.

4. Bringing in Summer

IN THE PRECEDING ceremonies the return of Spring, Summer, or Life, as a sequel to the expulsion of
Death, is only implied or at most announced. In the following ceremonies it is plainly enacted. Thus in some parts of
Bohemia the effigy of Death is drowned by being thrown into the water at sunset; then the girls go out into the wood
and cut down a young tree with a green crown, hang a doll dressed as a woman on it, deck the whole with green, red, and
white ribbons, and march in procession with their Líto (Summer) into the village, collecting gifts and
singing —

“Death swims in the water,

Spring comes to visit us,

With eggs that are red,

With yellow pancakes.

We carried Death out of the village,

We are carrying Summer into the village.”

In many Silesian villages the figure of Death, after being treated with respect, is stript of its clothes and flung
with curses into the water, or torn to pieces in a field. Then the young folk repair to a wood, cut down a small
fir-tree, peel the trunk, and deck it with festoons of evergreens, paper roses, painted egg-shells, motley bits of
cloth, and so forth. The tree thus adorned is called Summer or May. Boys carry it from house to house singing
appropriate songs and begging for presents. Among their songs is the following:

“We have carried Death out,

We are bringing the dear Summer back,

The Summer and the May

And all the flowers gay.”

Sometimes they also bring back from the wood a prettily adorned figure, which goes by the name of Summer, May, or
the Bride; in the Polish districts it is called Dziewanna, the goddess of spring.

At Eisenach on the fourth Sunday in Lent young people used to fasten a straw-man, representing Death, to a wheel,
which they trundled to the top of a hill. Then setting fire to the figure they allowed it and the wheel to roll down
the slope. Next day they cut a tall fir-tree, tricked it out with ribbons, and set it up in the plain. The men then
climbed the tree to fetch down the ribbons. In Upper Lusatia the figure of Death, made of straw and rags, is dressed in
a veil furnished by the last bride and a shirt provided by the house in which the last death took place. Thus arrayed
the figure is stuck on the end of a long pole and carried at full speed by the tallest and strongest girl, while the
rest pelt the effigy with sticks and stones. Whoever hits it will be sure to live through the year. In this way Death
is carried out of the village and thrown into the water or over the boundary of the next village. On their way home
each one breaks a green branch and carries it gaily with him till he reaches the village, when he throws it away.
Sometimes the young people of the next village, upon whose land the figure has been thrown, run after them and hurl it
back, not wishing to have Death among them. Hence the two parties occasionally come to blows.

In these cases Death is represented by the puppet which is thrown away, Summer or Life by the branches or trees
which are brought back. But sometimes a new potency of life seems to be attributed to the image of Death itself, and by
a kind of resurrection it becomes the instrument of the general revival. Thus in some parts of Lusatia women alone are
concerned in carrying out Death, and suffer no male to meddle with it. Attired in mourning, which they wear the whole
day, they make a puppet of straw, clothe it in a white shirt, and give it a broom in one hand and a scythe in the
other. Singing songs and pursued by urchins throwing stones, they carry the puppet to the village boundary, where they
tear it in pieces. Then they cut down a fine tree, hang the shirt on it, and carry it home singing. On the Feast of
Ascension the Saxons of Braller, a village of Transylvania, not far from Hermannstadt, observe the ceremony of
“Carrying out Death” in the following manner. After morning service all the school-girls repair to the house of one of
their number, and there dress up the Death. This is done by tying a threshed-out sheaf of corn into a rough semblance
of a head and body, while the arms are simulated by a broomstick thrust through it horizontally. The figure is dressed
in the holiday attire of a young peasant woman, with a red hood, silver brooches, and a profusion of ribbons at the
arms and breast. The girls bustle at their work, for soon the bells will be ringing to vespers, and the Death must be
ready in time to be placed at the open window, that all the people may see it on their way to church. When vespers are
over, the longed-for moment has come for the first procession with the Death to begin; it is a privilege that belongs
to the school-girls alone. Two of the older girls seize the figure by the arms and walk in front: all the rest follow
two and two. Boys may take no part in the procession, but they troop after it gazing with open-mouthed admiration at
the “beautiful Death.” So the procession goes through all the streets of the village, the girls singing the old hymn
that begins —

“Gott mein Vater, deine Liebe

Reicht so weit der Himmel ist,”

to a tune that differs from the ordinary one. When the procession has wound its way through every street, the girls
go to another house, and having shut the door against the eager prying crowd of boys who follow at their heels, they
strip the Death and pass the naked truss of straw out of the window to the boys, who pounce on it, run out of the
village with it without singing, and fling the dilapidated effigy into the neighbouring brook. This done, the second
scene of the little drama begins. While the boys were carrying away the Death out of the village, the girls remained in
the house, and one of them is now dressed in all the finery which had been worn by the effigy. Thus arrayed she is led
in procession through all the streets to the singing of the same hymn as before. When the procession is over they all
betake themselves to the house of the girl who played the leading part. Here a feast awaits them from which also the
boys are excluded. It is a popular belief that the children may safely begin to eat gooseberries and other fruit after
the day on which Death has thus been carried out; for Death, which up to that time lurked especially in gooseberries,
is now destroyed. Further, they may now bathe with impunity out of doors. Very similar is the ceremony which, down to
recent years, was observed in some of the German villages of Moravia. Boys and girls met on the afternoon of the first
Sunday after Easter, and together fashioned a puppet of straw to represent Death. Decked with bright-coloured ribbons
and cloths, and fastened to the top of a long pole, the effigy was then borne with singing and clamour to the nearest
height, where it was stript of its gay attire and thrown or rolled down the slope. One of the girls was next dressed in
the gauds taken from the effigy of Death, and with her at its head the procession moved back to the village. In some
villages the practice is to bury the effigy in the place that has the most evil reputation of all the country-side:
others throw it into running water.

In the Lusatian ceremony described above, the tree which is brought home after the destruction of the figure of
Death is plainly equivalent to the trees or branches which, in the preceding customs, were brought back as
representatives of Summer or Life, after Death had been thrown away or destroyed. But the transference of the shirt
worn by the effigy of Death to the tree clearly indicates that the tree is a kind of revivification, in a new form, of
the destroyed effigy. This comes out also in the Transylvanian and Moravian customs: the dressing of a girl in the
clothes worn by the Death, and the leading her about the village to the same song which had been sung when the Death
was being carried about, show that she is intended to be a kind of resuscitation of the being whose effigy has just
been destroyed. These examples therefore suggest that the Death whose demolition is represented in these ceremonies
cannot be regarded as the purely destructive agent which we understand by Death. If the tree which is brought back as
an embodiment of the reviving vegetation of spring is clothed in the shirt worn by the Death which has just been
destroyed, the object certainly cannot be to check and counteract the revival of vegetation: it can only be to foster
and promote it. Therefore the being which has just been destroyed — the so-called Death — must be supposed to be
endowed with a vivifying and quickening influence, which it can communicate to the vegetable and even the animal world.
This ascription of a life-giving virtue to the figure of Death is put beyond a doubt by the custom, observed in some
places, of taking pieces of the straw effigy of Death and placing them in the fields to make the crops grow, or in the
manger to make the cattle thrive. Thus in Spachendorf, a village of Austrian Silesia, the figure of Death, made of
straw, brushwood, and rags, is carried with wild songs to an open place outside the village and there burned, and while
it is burning a general struggle takes place for the pieces, which are pulled out of the flames with bare hands. Each
one who secures a fragment of the effigy ties it to a branch of the largest tree in his garden, or buries it in his
field, in the belief that this causes the crops to grow better. In the Troppau district of Austrian Silesia the straw
figure which the boys make on the fourth Sunday in Lent is dressed by the girls in woman’s clothes and hung with
ribbons, necklace, and garlands. Attached to a long pole it is carried out of the village, followed by a troop of young
people of both sexes, who alternately frolic, lament, and sing songs. Arrived at its destination — a field outside the
village — the figure is stripped of its clothes and ornaments; then the crowd rushes at it and tears it to bits,
scuffling for the fragments. Every one tries to get a wisp of the straw of which the effigy was made, because such a
wisp, placed in the manger, is believed to make the cattle thrive. Or the straw is put in the hens’ nest, it being
supposed that this prevents the hens from carrying away their eggs, and makes them brood much better. The same
attribution of a fertilising power to the figure of Death appears in the belief that if the bearers of the figure,
after throwing it away, beat cattle with their sticks, this will render the beasts fat or prolific. Perhaps the sticks
had been previously used to beat the Death, and so had acquired the fertilising power ascribed to the effigy. We have
seen, too, that at Leipsic a straw effigy of Death was shown to young wives to make them fruitful.

It seems hardly possible to separate from the May-trees the trees or branches which are brought into the village
after the destruction of the Death. The bearers who bring them in profess to be bringing in the Summer, therefore the
trees obviously represent the Summer; indeed in Silesia they are commonly called the Summer or the May, and the doll
which is sometimes attached to the Summer-tree is a duplicate representative of the Summer, just as the May is
sometimes represented at the same time by a May-tree and a May Lady. Further, the Summer-trees are adorned like
May-trees with ribbons and so on; like May-trees, when large, they are planted in the ground and climbed up; and like
May-trees, when small, they are carried from door to door by boys or girls singing songs and collecting money. And as
if to demonstrate the identity of the two sets of customs the bearers of the Summer-tree sometimes announce that they
are bringing in the Summer and the May. The customs, therefore, of bringing in the May and bringing in the Summer are
essentially the same; and the Summer-tree is merely another form of the May-tree, the only distinction (besides that of
name) being in the time at which they are respectively brought in; for while the May-tree is usually fetched in on the
first of May or at Whitsuntide, the Summer-tree is fetched in on the fourth Sunday in Lent. Therefore, if the May-tree
is an embodiment of the tree-spirit or spirit of vegetation, the Summer-tree must likewise be an embodiment of the
tree-spirit or spirit of vegetation. But we have seen that the Summer-tree is in some cases a revivification of the
effigy of Death. It follows, therefore, that in these cases the effigy called Death must be an embodiment of the
tree-spirit or spirit of vegetation. This inference is confirmed, first, by the vivifying and fertilising influence
which the fragments of the effigy of Death are believed to exercise both on vegetable and on animal life; for this
influence, as we saw in an earlier part of this work, is supposed to be a special attribute of the tree-spirit. It is
confirmed, secondly, by observing that the effigy of Death is sometimes decked with leaves or made of twigs, branches,
hemp, or a threshed-out sheaf of corn; and that sometimes it is hung on a little tree and so carried about by girls
collecting money, just as is done with the May-tree and the May Lady, and with the Summer-tree and the doll attached to
it. In short we are driven to regard the expulsion of Death and the bringing in of Summer as, in some cases at least,
merely another form of that death and revival of the spirit of vegetation in spring which we saw enacted in the killing
and resurrection of the Wild Man. The burial and resurrection of the Carnival is probably another way of expressing the
same idea. The interment of the representative of the Carnival under a dung-heap is natural, if he is supposed to
possess a quickening and fertilising influence like that ascribed to the effigy of Death. The Esthonians, indeed, who
carry the straw figure out of the village in the usual way on Shrove Tuesday, do not call it the Carnival, but the
Wood-spirit (Metsik), and they clearly indicate the identity of the effigy with the wood-spirit by fixing it
to the top of a tree in the wood, where it remains for a year, and is besought almost daily with prayers and offerings
to protect the herds; for like a true wood-spirit the Metsik is a patron of cattle. Sometimes the
Metsik is made of sheaves of corn.

Thus we may fairly conjecture that the names Carnival, Death, and Summer are comparatively late and inadequate
expressions for the beings personified or embodied in the customs with which we have been dealing. The very
abstractness of the names bespeaks a modern origin; for the personification of times and seasons like the Carnival and
Summer, or of an abstract notion like death, is not primitive. But the ceremonies themselves bear the stamp of a
dateless antiquity; therefore we can hardly help supposing that in their origin the ideas which they embodied were of a
more simple and concrete order. The notion of a tree, perhaps of a particular kind of tree (for some savages have no
word for tree in general), or even of an individual tree, is sufficiently concrete to supply a basis from which by a
gradual process of generalisation the wider idea of a spirit of vegetation might be reached. But this general idea of
vegetation would readily be confounded with the season in which it manifests itself; hence the substitution of Spring,
Summer, or May for the tree-spirit or spirit of vegetation would be easy and natural. Again, the concrete notion of the
dying tree or dying vegetation would by a similar process of generalisation glide into a notion of death in general; so
that the practice of carrying out the dying or dead vegetation in spring, as a preliminary to its revival, would in
time widen out into an attempt to banish Death in general from the village or district. The view that in these spring
ceremonies Death meant originally the dying or dead vegetation of winter has the high support of W. Mannhardt; and he
confirms it by the analogy of the name Death as applied to the spirit of the ripe corn. Commonly the spirit of the ripe
corn is conceived, not as dead, but as old, and hence it goes by the name of the Old Man or the Old Woman. But in some
places the last sheaf cut at harvest, which is generally believed to be the seat of the corn spirit, is called “the
Dead One”: children are warned against entering the corn-fields because Death sits in the corn; and, in a game played
by Saxon children in Transylvania at the maize harvest, Death is represented by a child completely covered with maize
leaves.

5. Battle of Summer and Winter

SOMETIMES in the popular customs of the peasantry the contrast between the dormant powers of
vegetation in winter and their awakening vitality in spring takes the form of a dramatic contest between actors who
play the parts respectively of Winter and Summer. Thus in the towns of Sweden on May Day two troops of young men on
horseback used to meet as if for mortal combat. One of them was led by a representative of Winter clad in furs, who
threw snowballs and ice in order to prolong the cold weather. The other troop was commanded by a representative of
Summer covered with fresh leaves and flowers. In the sham fight which followed the party of Summer came off victorious,
and the ceremony ended with a feast. Again, in the region of the middle Rhine, a representative of Summer clad in ivy
combats a representative of Winter clad in straw or moss and finally gains a victory over him. The vanquished foe is
thrown to the ground and stripped of his casing of straw, which is torn to pieces and scattered about, while the
youthful comrades of the two champions sing a song to commemorate the defeat of Winter by Summer. Afterwards they carry
about a summer garland or branch and collect gifts of eggs and bacon from house to house. Sometimes the champion who
acts the part of Summer is dressed in leaves and flowers and wears a chaplet of flowers on his head. In the Palatinate
this mimic conflict takes place on the fourth Sunday in Lent. All over Bavaria the same drama used to be acted on the
same day, and it was still kept up in some places down to the middle of the nineteenth century or later. While Summer
appeared clad all in green, decked with fluttering ribbons, and carrying a branch in blossom or a little tree hung with
apples and pears, Winter was muffled up in cap and mantle of fur and bore in his hand a snow-shovel or a flail.
Accompanied by their respective retinues dressed in corresponding attire, they went through all the streets of the
village, halting before the houses and singing staves of old songs, for which they received presents of bread, eggs,
and fruit. Finally, after a short struggle, Winter was beaten by Summer and ducked in the village well or driven out of
the village with shouts and laughter into the forest.

At Goepfritz in Lower Austria, two men personating Summer and Winter used to go from house to house on Shrove
Tuesday, and were everywhere welcomed by the children with great delight. The representative of Summer was clad in
white and bore a sickle; his comrade, who played the part of Winter, had a fur-cap on his head, his arms and legs were
swathed in straw, and he carried a flail. In every house they sang verses alternately. At Drömling in Brunswick, down
to the present time, the contest between Summer and Winter is acted every year at Whitsuntide by a troop of boys and a
troop of girls. The boys rush singing, shouting, and ringing bells from house to house to drive Winter away; after them
come the girls singing softly and led by a May Bride, all in bright dresses and decked with flowers and garlands to
represent the genial advent of spring. Formerly the part of Winter was played by a straw-man which the boys carried
with them; now it is acted by a real man in disguise.

Among the Central Esquimaux of North America the contest between representatives of summer and winter, which in
Europe has long degenerated into a mere dramatic performance, is still kept up as a magical ceremony of which the
avowed intention is to influence the weather. In autumn, when storms announce the approach of the dismal Arctic winter,
the Esquimaux divide themselves into two parties called respectively the ptarmigans and the ducks, the ptarmigans
comprising all persons born in winter, and the ducks all persons born in summer. A long rope of sealskin is then
stretched out, and each party laying hold of one end of it seeks by tugging with might and main to drag the other party
over to its side. If the ptarmigans get the worst of it, then summer has won the game and fine weather may be expected
to prevail through the winter.

6. Death and Resurrection of Kostrubonko

IN RUSSIA funeral ceremonies like those of “Burying the Carnival” and “Carrying out Death” are
celebrated under the names, not of Death or the Carnival, but of certain mythic figures, Kostrubonko, Kostroma, Kupalo,
Lada, and Yarilo. These Russian ceremonies are observed both in spring and at midsummer. Thus “in Little Russia it used
to be the custom at Eastertide to celebrate the funeral of a being called Kostrubonko, the deity of the spring. A
circle was formed of singers who moved slowly around a girl who lay on the ground as if dead, and as they went they
sang:

‘Dead, dead is our Kostrubonko!

Dead, dead is our dear one!’

until the girl suddenly sprang up, on which the chorus joyfully exclaimed:

‘Come to life, come to life has our Kostrubonko!

Come to life, come to life has our dear one!’”

On the Eve of St. John (Midsummer Eve) a figure of Kupalo is made of straw and “is dressed in woman’s clothes, with
a necklace and a floral crown. Then a tree is felled, and, after being decked with ribbons, is set up on some chosen
spot. Near this tree, to which they give the name of Marena [Winter or Death], the straw figure is placed, together
with a table, on which stand spirits and viands. Afterwards a bonfire is lit, and the young men and maidens jump over
it in couples, carrying the figure with them. On the next day they strip the tree and the figure of their ornaments,
and throw them both into a stream.” On St. Peter’s Day, the twenty-ninth of June, or on the following Sunday, “the
Funeral of Kostroma” or of Lada or of Yarilo is celebrated in Russia. In the Governments of Penza and Simbirsk the
funeral used to be represented as follows. A bonfire was kindled on the twenty-eighth of June, and on the next day the
maidens chose one of their number to play the part of Kostroma. Her companions saluted her with deep obeisances, placed
her on a board, and carried her to the bank of a stream. There they bathed her in the water, while the oldest girl made
a basket of lime-tree bark and beat it like a drum. Then they returned to the village and ended the day with
processions, games, and dances. In the Murom district Kostroma was represented by a straw figure dressed in woman’s
clothes and flowers. This was laid in a trough and carried with songs to the bank of a lake or river. Here the crowd
divided into two sides, of which the one attacked and the other defended the figure. At last the assailants gained the
day, stripped the figure of its dress and ornaments, tore it in pieces, trod the straw of which it was made under foot,
and flung it into the stream; while the defenders of the figure hid their faces in their hands and pretended to bewail
the death of Kostroma. In the district of Kostroma the burial of Yarilo was celebrated on the twenty-ninth or thirtieth
of June. The people chose an old man and gave him a small coffin containing a Priapus-like figure representing Yarilo.
This he carried out of the town, followed by women chanting dirges and expressing by their gestures grief and despair.
In the open fields a grave was dug, and into it the figure was lowered amid weeping and wailing, after which games and
dances were begun, “calling to mind the funeral games celebrated in old times by the pagan Slavonians.” In Little
Russia the figure of Yarilo was laid in a coffin and carried through the streets after sunset surrounded by drunken
women, who kept repeating mournfully, “He is dead! he is dead!” The men lifted and shook the figure as if they were
trying to recall the dead man to life. Then they said to the women, “Women, weep not. I know what is sweeter than
honey.” But the women continued to lament and chant, as they do at funerals. “Of what was he guilty? He was so good. He
will arise no more. O how shall we part from thee? What is life without thee? Arise, if only for a brief hour. But he
rises not, he not.” At last the Yarilo was buried in a grave.

7. Death and Revival of Vegetation

THESE Russian customs are plainly of the same nature as those which in Austria and Germany are known
as “Carrying out Death.” Therefore if the interpretation here adopted of the latter is right, the Russian Kostrubonko,
Yarilo, and the rest must also have been originally embodiments of the spirit of vegetation, and their death must have
been regarded as a necessary preliminary to their revival. The revival as a sequel to the death is enacted in the first
of the ceremonies described, the death and resurrection of Kostrubonko. The reason why in some of these Russian
ceremonies the death of the spirit of vegetation is celebrated at midsummer may be that the decline of summer is dated
from Midsummer Day, after which the days begin to shorten, and the sun sets out on his downward journey:

“To the darksome hollows

Where the frosts of winter lie.”

Such a turning-point of the year, when vegetation might be thought to share the incipient though still almost
imperceptible decay of summer, might very well be chosen by primitive man as a fit moment for resorting to those magic
rites by which he hopes to stay the decline, or at least to ensure the revival, of plant life.

But while the death of vegetation appears to have been represented in all, and its revival in some, of these spring
and midsummer ceremonies, there are features in some of them which can hardly be explained on this hypothesis alone.
The solemn funeral, the lamentations, and the mourning attire, which often characterise these rites, are indeed
appropriate at the death of the beneficent spirit of vegetation. But what shall we say of the glee with which the
effigy is often carried out, of the sticks and stones with which it is assailed, and the taunts and curses which are
hurled at it? What shall we say of the dread of the effigy evinced by the haste with which the bearers scamper home as
soon as they have thrown it away, and by the belief that some one must soon die in any house into which it has looked?
This dread might perhaps be explained by a belief that there is a certain infectiousness in the dead spirit of
vegetation which renders its approach dangerous. But this explanation, besides being rather strained, does not cover
the rejoicings which often attend the carrying out of Death. We must therefore recognise two distinct and seemingly
opposite features in these ceremonies: on the one hand, sorrow for the death, and affection and respect for the dead;
on the other hand, fear and hatred of the dead, and rejoicings at his death. How the former of these features is to be
explained I have attempted to show: how the latter came to be so closely associated with the former is a question which
I shall try to answer in the sequel.

8. Analogous Rites in India

IN THE KANAGRA district of India there is a custom observed by young girls in spring which closely
resembles some of the European spring ceremonies just described. It is called the Ralî Ka melâ, or fair of
Ralî, the Ralî being a small painted earthen image of Siva or Pârvatî. The custom is in vogue all over the
Kanagra district, and its celebration, which is entirely confined to young girls, lasts through most of Chet
(March-April) up to the Sankrânt of Baisâkh (April). On a morning in March all the young girls of the village take
small baskets of dûb grass and flowers to an appointed place, where they throw them in a heap. Round this heap
they stand in a circle and sing. This goes on every day for ten days, till the heap of grass and flowers has reached a
fair height. Then they cut in the jungle two branches, each with three prongs at one end, and place them, prongs
downwards, over the heap of flowers, so as to make two tripods or pyramids. On the single uppermost points of these
branches they get an image-maker to construct two clay images, one to represent Siva, and the other Pârvatî. The girls
then divide themselves into two parties, one for Siva and one for Pârvatî, and marry the images in the usual way,
leaving out no part of the ceremony. After the marriage they have a feast, the cost of which is defrayed by
contributions solicited from their parents. Then at the next Sankrânt (Baisâkh) they all go together to the river-side,
throw the images into a deep pool, and weep over the place, as though they were performing funeral obsequies. The boys
of the neighbourhood often tease them by diving after the images, bringing them up, and waving them about while the
girls are crying over them. The object of the fair is said to be to secure a good husband.

That in this Indian ceremony the deities Siva and Pârvatî are conceived as spirits of vegetation seems to be proved
by the placing of their images on branches over a heap of grass and flowers. Here, as often in European folk-custom,
the divinities of vegetation are represented in duplicate, by plants and by puppets. The marriage of these Indian
deities in spring corresponds to the European ceremonies in which the marriage of the vernal spirits of vegetation is
represented by the King and Queen of May, the May Bride, Bridegroom of the May, and so forth. The throwing of the
images into the water, and the mourning for them, are the equivalents of the European customs of throwing the dead
spirit of vegetation under the name of Death, Yarilo, Kostroma, and the rest, into the water and lamenting over it.
Again, in India, as often in Europe, the rite is performed exclusively by females. The notion that the ceremony helps
to procure husbands for the girls can be explained by the quickening and fertilising influence which the spirit of
vegetation is believed to exert upon the life of man as well as of plants.

9. The Magic Spring

THE GENERAL explanation which we have been led to adopt of these and many similar ceremonies is that
they are, or were in their origin, magical rites intended to ensure the revival of nature in spring. The means by which
they were supposed to effect this end were imitation and sympathy. Led astray by his ignorance of the true causes of
things, primitive man believed that in order to produce the great phenomena of nature on which his life depended he had
only to imitate them, and that immediately by a secret sympathy or mystic influence the little drama which he acted in
forest glade or mountain dell, on desert plain or wind-swept shore, would be taken up and repeated by mightier actors
on a vaster stage. He fancied that by masquerading in leaves and flowers he helped the bare earth to clothe herself
with verdure, and that by playing the death and burial of winter he drove that gloomy season away, and made smooth the
path for the footsteps of returning spring. If we find it hard to throw ourselves even in fancy into a mental condition
in which such things seem possible, we can more easily picture to ourselves the anxiety which the savage, when he first
began to lift his thoughts above the satisfaction of his merely animal wants, and to meditate on the causes of things,
may have felt as to the continued operation of what we now call the laws of nature. To us, familiar as we are with the
conception of the uniformity and regularity with which the great cosmic phenomena succeed each other, there seems
little ground for apprehension that the causes which produce these effects will cease to operate, at least within the
near future. But this confidence in the stability of nature is bred only by the experience which comes of wide
observation and long tradition; and the savage, with his narrow sphere of observation and his short-lived tradition,
lacks the very elements of that experience which alone could set his mind at rest in face of the ever-changing and
often menacing aspects of nature. No wonder, therefore, that he is thrown into a panic by an eclipse, and thinks that
the sun or the moon would surely perish, if he did not raise a clamour and shoot his puny shafts into the air to defend
the luminaries from the monster who threatens to devour them. No wonder he is terrified when in the darkness of night a
streak of sky is suddenly illumined by the flash of a meteor, or the whole expanse of the celestial arch glows with the
fitful light of the Northern Streamers. Even phenomena which recur at fixed and uniform intervals may be viewed by him
with apprehension, before he has come to recognise the orderliness of their recurrence. The speed or slowness of his
recognition of such periodic or cyclic changes in nature will depend largely on the length of the particular cycle. The
cycle, for example, of day and night is everywhere, except in the polar regions, so short and hence so frequent that
men probably soon ceased to discompose themselves seriously as to the chance of its failing to recur, though the
ancient Egyptians, as we have seen, daily wrought enchantments to bring back to the east in the morning the fiery orb
which had sunk at evening in the crimson west. But it was far otherwise with the annual cycle of the seasons. To any
man a year is a considerable period, seeing that the number of our years is but few at the best. To the primitive
savage, with his short memory and imperfect means of marking the flight of time, a year may well have been so long that
he failed to recognise it as a cycle at all, and watched the changing aspects of earth and heaven with a perpetual
wonder, alternately delighted and alarmed, elated and cast down, according as the vicissitudes of light and heat, of
plant and animal life, ministered to his comfort or threatened his existence. In autumn when the withered leaves were
whirled about the forest by the nipping blast, and he looked up at the bare boughs, could he feel sure that they would
ever be green again? As day by day the sun sank lower and lower in the sky, could he be certain that the luminary would
ever retrace his heavenly road? Even the waning moon, whose pale sickle rose thinner and thinner every night over the
rim of the eastern horizon, may have excited in his mind a fear lest, when it had wholly vanished, there should be
moons no more.

These and a thousand such misgivings may have thronged the fancy and troubled the peace of the man who first began
to reflect on the mysteries of the world he lived in, and to take thought for a more distant future than the morrow. It
was natural, therefore, that with such thoughts and fears he should have done all that in him lay to bring back the
faded blossom to the bough, to swing the low sun of winter up to his old place in the summer sky, and to restore its
orbed fulness to the silver lamp of the waning moon. We may smile at his vain endeavours if we please, but it was only
by making a long series of experiments, of which some were almost inevitably doomed to failure, that man learned from
experience the futility of some of his attempted methods and the fruitfulness of others. After all, magical ceremonies
are nothing but experiments which have failed and which continue to be repeated merely because, for reasons which have
already been indicated, the operator is unaware of their failure. With the advance of knowledge these ceremonies either
cease to be performed altogether or are kept up from force of habit long after the intention with which they were
instituted has been forgotten. Thus fallen from their high estate, no longer regarded as solemn rites on the punctual
performance of which the welfare and even the life of the community depend, they sink gradually to the level of simple
pageants, mummeries, and pastimes, till in the final stage of degeneration they are wholly abandoned by older people,
and, from having once been the most serious occupation of the sage, become at last the idle sport of children. It is in
this final stage of decay that most of the old magical rites of our European forefathers linger on at the present day,
and even from this their last retreat they are fast being swept away by the rising tide of those multitudinous forces,
moral, intellectual, and social, which are bearing mankind onward to a new and unknown goal. We may feel some natural
regret at the disappearance of quaint customs and picturesque ceremonies, which have preserved to an age often deemed
dull and prosaic something of the flavour and freshness of the olden time, some breath of the springtime of the world;
yet our regret will be lessened when we remember that these pretty pageants, these now innocent diversions, had their
origin in ignorance and superstition; that if they are a record of human endeavour, they are also a monument of
fruitless ingenuity, of wasted labour, and of blighted hopes; and that for all their gay trappings — their flowers,
their ribbons, and their music — they partake far more of tragedy than of farce.

The interpretation which, following in the footsteps of W. Mannhardt, I have attempted to give of these ceremonies
has been not a little confirmed by the discovery, made since this book was first written, that the natives of Central
Australia regularly practise magical ceremonies for the purpose of awakening the dormant energies of nature at the
approach of what may be called the Australian spring. Nowhere apparently are the alternations of the seasons more
sudden and the contrasts between them more striking than in the deserts of Central Australia, where at the end of a
long period of drought the sandy and stony wilderness, over which the silence and desolation of death appear to brood,
is suddenly, after a few days of torrential rain, transformed into a landscape smiling with verdure and peopled with
teeming multitudes of insects and lizards, of frogs and birds. The marvellous change which passes over the face of
nature at such times has been compared even by European observers to the effect of magic; no wonder, then, that the
savage should regard it as such in very deed. Now it is just when there is promise of the approach of a good season
that the natives of Central Australia are wont especially to perform those magical ceremonies of which the avowed
intention is to multiply the plants and animals they use as food. These ceremonies, therefore, present a close analogy
to the spring customs of our European peasantry not only in the time of their celebration, but also in their aim; for
we can hardly doubt that in instituting rites designed to assist the revival of plant life in spring our primitive
forefathers were moved, not by any sentimental wish to smell at early violets, or pluck the rathe primrose, or watch
yellow daffodils dancing in the breeze, but by the very practical consideration, certainly not formulated in abstract
terms, that the life of man is inextricably bound up with that of plants, and that if they were to perish he could not
survive. And as the faith of the Australian savage in the efficacy of his magic rites is confirmed by observing that
their performance is invariably followed, sooner or later, by that increase of vegetable and animal life which it is
their object to produce, so, we may suppose, it was with European savages in the olden time. The sight of the fresh
green in brake and thicket, of vernal flowers blowing on mossy banks, of swallows arriving from the south, and of the
sun mounting daily higher in the sky, would be welcomed by them as so many visible signs that their enchantments were
indeed taking effect, and would inspire them with a cheerful confidence that all was well with a world which they could
thus mould to suit their wishes. Only in autumn days, as summer slowly faded, would their confidence again be dashed by
doubts and misgivings at symptoms of decay, which told how vain were all their efforts to stave off for ever the
approach of winter and of death.